Hello. My name is DeDe. I’m a slacker, a student, a glutton, a hopeless romantic. This whole writing thing’s fun and therapeudic, but hopefully one day it’ll get me paid and an Oscar to put in the bathroom. In all honesty, I really don’t want to work; I wish there was a career that consisted of sitting on my ass all day, ‘chillaxin’ with an iced Starbucks Java Chip Frappachino in one hand and the remote in the other, along with my Playstation Portable and phone in hand to talk to my friend Ashley whenever I felt like it. A lazy job other than welfare. I dont wanna live a boring life with a boring, ordinary job that I hate.
Most of all, I wanna be happy and in love. I may not get the man of my dreams
or Prince Charming, but someone at least somewhat close to it. All the while I wish to look good in the process. Besides, when my book is published, I wanna look better than a MILF (have those bitches on their knees, begging to be me!).
Listen… I’m emo, okay? It’s taken me a while to own up to that, being that it’s so hard to prove to people that being emo does not ALWAYS
consist of bitching and moaning about life or slitting your wrists. Yeah, the music i listen to IS emotional, and so am I, at times (not all the time). I also may not be a career-driven person, but hopefully I will. I’d like to be one if you’re offering. No? Oh, well… at least I tried. Pretty please? With sugar on top? Ok, fine.
There are times where I’ve asked myself (and other people, of course), “Should I be a comedian or stick to writing? Maybe I should stick to being a student at Westchester Community College, although my grades have gone to shit (thanks to moi
.)” Like I said earlier: Oh, well.
I bet your mind is pondering about why this bitch is ranting and raving about shit that doesn’t affect you, or that I’m wasting precious time you could have spent either going to Starbucks or making that important phone call while making an order at Starbucks. Well, take at least some time to figure that one out. Hopefully, it won’t take you that long.
Now…how did that feel? Good, I hope? Great.
Ok. Not to sound all narcissistic and all, but back to me. So, as I was getting pounded from behind by this bouncer named Eddie…
Just kidding. I do hope you realized that. That’s what we college kids call “sarcasm”. Moving on…
Recently, my relationship with my cat, Coalette, has gone sour. The name ensures not only her color (completely black), but she resembles a more slender, female version of my aunt’s cat, Coal, who is pretty much an old, bitter, black man reincarnated. Althought I consider her my daughter, she and my mother are closer than peanut butter and jelly. They have their ladies’ night in, doing each other’s nails and hair, while I’m sitting in my room, watching TV, listening to music, masterbating, and chatting with my friend Ashley on AIM. Oh, well.
What’s even worse are my guy troubles, which I’d rather not get into now, because that’s more depressing than either not knowing where baby Suri is or how far along Anna Nicole Smith is in her pregnancy.
Well… I guess that’s all I can tell you for now. I’m getting hungry…and tired, and it’s only 4:26pm, on a Sunday. Oh well… Goodnight!